One Last Run
by J.J. Banks
Summary: Is it possible to fall head over heels for a man like Gregory House? Oddly, horribly.... yes. [HouseOW]
1. Chapter 1

**J.J.** - Have I discovered a new fandom? Yes, and a glorious one it is. I -heart!- House (the show and the shexah character). And so... I've decided to try my hand at some fanfiction. I swear.. this is nota Mary-Sue story. I just can't place House with Cuddy because they have a brother/sister thing going on, and Cameron because... yeah. No Cameron.

**Disclaimer:** I don't own House. Are you kidding me?

...House totally pwns me.

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_Chapter 1_

* * *

I was examining myself in the mirror, looking carefully for any abnormalities. A ruptured disc, a gruesomely colored bruise, heck... I'd even settle for a hangnail. But, sadly, I was not to be considered ill today. The more I searched, the more disappointed I became with my obviously healthy state. Of all the days to be in peak condition — I even had a 'healthy glow' about me.

Now, you're probably asking yourself which mental institute I escaped out of right about now, and for good cause. _Wanting_ a reason to make a trip to the hospital is not normally considered sane behavior. Don't worry, I'm not the type of person to down some harmful drugs to purposely make myself sick. This isn't one of those self-destructive, cry-for-attention, suicide cases.

Well... perhaps, in one way, it's a cry for one _particular _person's attention...

But I'm getting ahead of myself. Let me take you back to Tuesday, roughly two weeks ago. This whole mess started on Tuesday.

* * *

Tuesday. AKA, my official D-Day. Only... I didn't know it at the time. 

I was in my car, late as usual, when my cell phone rang. Cursing under my breath, I reached a hand into my purse, digging around for the blasted thing while trying to keep myself from running off the road or hitting any pedestrians. I finally found it, accident free, and flipped it open, pressing it against my ear. "Hello?"

"Mary! Where are you?" It was my sister, Lori, and she sounded a bit more frantic than she usually did as a working mom in the city. It was also just like her to call me only to ask an idiotic question like my location. Did it really matter _where_ exactly I was? Okay, so I'd missed my coffee this morning and I was a bit cranky. Sue me.

"I'm in my car, Lor..." I answered in exasperation. "I've got work this morning."

"Mary," her voice cracked and she sounded on the edge of tears. "Dad's in the hospital."

I froze. "What?" I could hardly believe it, my hands tightening on the wheel. "Is it serious? Which hospital?"

She sniffled loudly into the phone. "Um... I'm not sure... it's... it's the one off Exit 321..."

321? I usually passed that exit on the way to work. I glanced up, searching along side the road for signs. "There!" I swerved wildly into the next lane in order to make the exit on time. Several angry horns and screeching tires blared behind me and I winced, catching a few raised fingers from enraged drivers.

"Mary?" Lori was trying to talk to me and I snapped my attention back to the phone. "Mary? Are you there? What's there?"

"Uh... hold on," I let out a small, shaky breath, gathering my bearings. "I, uh... I'm driving to the hospital right now." I purposely slowed, following the first blue sign with a big 'H' on the front.

"Okay," Lori mumbled, sniffingly slightly again.

"See you in a minute." I snapped the phone shut, slowly placing it back in my purse. As I dutifully continued to follow hospital signs through traffic, I let my thoughts catch up with me. My dad? In the hospital? Those words didn't even make sense together in a sentence. My dad _couldn't_ be in the hospital. He'd raised Lori and me as a single parent when our mother had died when I was seven. He'd always been there for us... for me. Surely when I walked through those hospital doors, I'd be told there had been a big misunderstanding, and our dad was back home, spending an hour making spaghetti for lunch because he refused to eat anything 'processed-and-packaged'.

But deep down I knew that wouldn't be true, and I mentally steeled myself for the worst. When I pulled into the hospital parking lot a few minutes later, I could have passed a brunette statue. I stepped out of my simple, run-down Geo and walked to the hospital doors, unconsciously wringing my hands. I approached the front desk as formally as I could. "Excuse me?"

The receptionist looked up at me. "Can I help you?"

"Yes, could you tell me where Tom Jackson is staying, please? I'm his dau—"

"Maaaaarrryy!" A pitiful wail filled the entire waiting room.

I turned sharply. Oh no. Lori... no, not now...

I had only seconds to contemplate the humiliation she was about to cause before my blonde-haired sister was clinging to me like a frightened koala, sobbing into the front of my cream blouse. As off-key and embarrassingly dramatic as this whole display was, I was used to it, so with a sigh I wrapped my arms around her and patted her back.

"Lori...ssh... it's okay."

"Oh, Mary, it's awful... When Daddy called me today, I didn't know what to do, I just freaked–"

"Wait, Dad called you?" I repeated.

She looked up at me blearily. "Yes..."

"He was alright enough to call you?" My worry was melting quickly, replaced by an acute irritation.

"Excuse me," a voice interrupted them. "You must be Mary Jackson."

I turned towards the kind looking, African-American nurse. "Yes, that's me." I raised a questioning eyebrow.

"Your father is fine. He's just got a small cut on his hand--"

"_Small?_" Lori spluttered. "His clothes were covered in blood when I got here!"

The nurse respectfully ignored Lori's outbursts. "He needs a few stitches and then he'll be good as new."

"Thank you," I smiled. "May I see him?"

"Of course—"

"I'll take you, Mary," Lori said, her voice gaining that soap-opera tragedy edge to it again. "He's on the second floor." She began walking away.

I sent one final, grateful smile towards the nurse before hurrying along after my sister. I didn't know whether to feel greatly relieved that it wasn't something serious, or angry at Lori for making me _think_ it was. She'd always been the overly dramatic, scandalously flirtatious, drop-dead-gorgeous sister of the two of us. She was married to a handsome architect and had two kids – a pretty blonde daughter, and a nine year old boy that she adopted, who was sadly mute. Despite her flair for the dramatic, she had matured a lot and made a great mom, but she had never quite let go of her annoying habit of running to me for help. The only thing she ever willing offered _me _was dating advice. I'd always been the more sensible sister, relishing in solitude where I could create and be alone. I'd never had many boyfriends to begin with, but shortly after college I had gotten married to what I had thought was the perfect man. I won't get into details, I'll just say that we're now divorced and I'm in my thirties. Alone and miserable, as Lori is convinced. I get no peace...

We arrived at room 231 in record time. Lori might have been talking to me, but I hadn't really been listening. As I walked in and saw my dad on the hospital bed, I was far more grateful than I was angry that Lori had once again exaggerated something. It was a bit unnerving to see him in a hospital gown, propped up by pillows and an IV tube in his arm, but other than that he looked like his usual healthy self.

"Oh Mary," he said in greeting towards me, outstretching a hand. "My sweet girl, come here..."

Have I mentioned that I love my dad? I walked over him and planted a kiss on his forehead, taking my hand in his, a small lump forming in my throat. Yes, I know, I can be a total baby sometimes... but I don't care right now.

We visited for awhile, brief but sweet, before my stomach sent me a sharp reminder that I hadn't eaten breakfast that morning. Placing a hand to my stomach with a small frown, I said, "I think I'm going to head down to the cafeteria to get something to eat. I'll be right back."

My dad nodded his consent and I stood, asking Lori if she wanted anything. She politely declined and I shrugged, walking out of the room. I headed towards the first floor again, hoping for a nice, glazed doughnut or something equally sugar-filled.

Now, I think I should warn you that all of this, this entire episode this morning, is but a brief interlude to the _real_ 'Tuesday' incident, which I am about to get to. What's really important is what happens in the hospital cafeteria.

For being around 9 in the morning on a Tuesday, the place was really crowded. I wasn't too put off, because much to my glorious triumph, a glass casing was placed on the counter that held multiple choices of Krispy Kreme doughnuts. I selected a nice, plump raspberry filled one, and then decided to splurge and grabbed a chocolate-covered one too. I was never a fan of crowds, but they didn't really bother me. However, this time it was proving to be quite the nuisance, as I had nowhere to sit.

I considered just eating them back in my dad's room, but I wasn't sure you could take food in the rooms. And besides, despite declining earlier, Lori would end up picking off the chocolate one, and I wasn't in the mood to share. Sometimes a girl needs her chocolate.

I searched half-heartedly through the tables before coming across a smaller one near the corner. It was big enough to seat about three people, but only one man was sitting, sifting almost absently through files. I took a small breath before weaving my way through tables to get to the corner, doughnuts in hand. I approached his table and stood there for a moment awkwardly, before realizing he wasn't even aware I was there.

I cleared my throat to make myself known. His head jerked up, surprised, and he stared at me blankly. He had amazing blue eyes. Yes. _That_ was my first thought upon meeting him. Blue eyes surrounded by intelligent, rough-looking features, and crop of light brown, accentuated hair. He did not look away but, with an unnerving and absolutely unwavering focus, stared up at me, his mouth slowly turning down into a sarcastic-looking frown.

Finally finding my voice, I stuttered. "Excuse me. All of the other seats seem to be taken... do you mind if I join you?"

A look of incredulity passed through his eyes as he continued to stare. He didn't answer for several, long moments, but finally he gave a short shrug. I smiled gratefully and sat down. "Thank you."

I didn't want to appear like I was an incompetent, flustered school girl, so I took a deep breath, willing myself to calm, but that blatant, direct stare of his unnerved me and I lost my focus. I shook my head slightly and looked him in his eyes, preparing to offer a form of civil conversation.

"So... are you visiting someone?"

His eyes narrowed ever so slightly before he looked down at his files again. "Nope."

"Oh," I attempted to maintain a light tone. "So what are you in for?"

His eyes slowly dragged up to meet mine, an eyebrow slightly raised. "What am I 'in for'?" he repeated in such a way that I instantly felt like it was the stupidest comment of my entire existence.

My cheeks tinged a little pink. "Uh yeah... you know, why are you in the hospital?"

He paused, studying me with those hawk-like blue eyes, before finally answering, "Let's just say I'm "in" for a long time, and it's going slowly and torturously."

"I see..." Cancer perhaps? "So–"

"When I offered the seat, I wasn't offering conversation as well," he interrupted, as nonchalantly as if he'd complimented me. He gave me a pointed, irritated look.

"Sorry," I flushed. His sarcasm was very cutting, very... practiced. Somewhat humiliated, but determined to hang on to some of my pride by not leaving, I remained in my seat and began eating my raspberry filled doughnut. After awhile, my curiosity pricked at my conscious and I peered at the man across from me as discreetly as I could manage. He was going over the same papers, a distinct frown across his features, his brow furrowed in deep thought. Now that I was looking closer, I could see the blatant intelligence in his eyes, and something else... an inner spark. Deadly... like a cobra, ready to strike. He was unshaven, but the outcome didn't look like a full-fledged beard. I had to suppress the sudden urge to run my fingers across his cheeks. As my gaze traveled downward, I finally noticed a cane hooked on the end of the table near his leg.

Concern now entered my observation with the curiosity and I leaned forward slightly, trying to get a better look...

"Dr. House!"

Both of our gazes, as well as the majority of the cafeteria's, looked to source of the demanding, female voice. An official looking brunette, a doctor, standing with her hands on her hips. She was looking right at us. Well, not so much me, as _him..._

"Great..." he muttered darkly, exhaling in irritation.

She started walking (actually, it was more like _stalking_) towards us. Something clicked in my brain, like a tiny buzzer going off. Slowly, I turned to look at my mystery man in shock. _Doctor _House? He was a _doctor?_ I continued to stare at him dumbfounded. Where was his white lab coat? His stethoscope? I had just started to realize what an idiot I must have sounded like asking him why he was in the hospital when he spoke:

"Cuddy." His smile was amused and (shockingly) sarcastic. "Come to try the—"

She cut him off, more than a little annoyed. "House, I told you to be in the clinic an _hour_ ago."

"Well, I _was_ in the clinic. An hour ago..."

She smirked, folding her arms across her chest. "You're supposed to _stay _there. However, I will give you creativity points on your new hiding hole. Never would have thought to look for you in the public, _crowded_ cafeteria room."

"And yet," he gave a flat look, flourishing a hand, "not creative enough."

Cuddy rolled her eyes, shaking her head. She finally seemed to notice me in the corner, trying oh so desperately not to be seen. "Who's this?"

"Who's that?" House looked at me, eyebrows raised in mock surprise. "Uhh... don't know."

I smiled meekly. Cuddy gave him a confused look. "Right... just get to the clinic room, or I'll assign you more hours." She turned on her heel, marching out of the cafeteria room, missing the ugly look that crossed House's face.

He blew out a low stream of breath, eyes following Cuddy's retreating form, before gathering up his papers. He stood, leaning heavily on his cane, and looked at me. Again, that unfaltering stare rendered me speechless. And again, I felt the inferior resemblance to an incompetent bug.

And then instantly, his face softened, taking on a more indifferent quality. "Nice chatting with you." He smiled slightly. _Mockingly._

My mouth opened slightly in faint disgust as I watched him limp out of the cafeteria. I raised an eyebrow, crossing my hands across my chest. What was that supposed to be funny? Likely to him, it was hilarious. Now I was wondering if what I saw in him wasn't in fact intelligence, but arrogance instead. Or perhaps an odd combination of both? It didn't matter. It was likely I would never see Doctor House again in my life.

Little did I know, I was to be proven wrong only two days later.

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**Review. It's my Vicodin. n.n;; (Next chapter in House's POV)**


	2. Chapter 2

**J.J. - **I know Disease fans are going to kill me for updating this instead of that before going on a two-week vacation, but alas...

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_Chapter 2_

* * *

It was clever. It was... _genius. _Who would think to look for the anti-social misanthrope diagnostics doctor in the public cafeteria room? As a general rule, I hate people, so that setting could be considered sort of a mini-hell for me. But by ignoring everyone around me and burying my head in lab results, I effectively turned that mini-hell into a brilliant hideout. Genius.

I was actually rather surprised at the privacy I had. There is solitude in the masses, as I came to discover. No one bothered me, especially not a particular Dean of Medicine, and I bothered no one. It was perfect.

Until someone cleared her throat. Deep in an analysis of an MRI Scan, I was caught unawares and my head jerked up. A curly-haired brunette stood next to my table, fidgeting, and smiled bashfully when our eyes met. The idea of someone attempting communication, here in my sanctuary, was so unthinkable that I could only stare blankly.

"Excuse me. All of the other seats seem to be taken... do you mind if I join you?"

Yes, actually I do. But there are times that even I'm not proud of my unreasonable callousness. And so I will allow you to share this table, but understand that I don't like it.

I conveyed all this through an indifferent shrug and sharp nod toward the empty seat, and the smile of gratitude lit up her face. If she expected a returning smile then she would be sorely disappointed; I quickly buried myself back in my current case's paperwork before she was tempted to try anything like a conversation.

Unfortunately, she either didn't see or was unable to understand my obvious 'don't approach' mannerisms. Because attempting a conversation is _exactly_ what she did. I quickly cut those efforts short, however. I might have shared my table, but I didn't want her thinking we were on the verge of true friendship or something and endeavor to bond.

I caught her trying to analyze/observe me through the corner of her eyes. (Women do that). Little did she know, but I was doing a little observation myself, although much more discreetly. A trait I'm known for, and not affectionately so, is seeing people more as puzzles (AKA inanimate objects) rather than real, feeling people. As far as I could tell, this woman wasn't an interesting puzzle. She looked to be about in her thirties, a mostly pleasant face, regular hazel eyes... average looking. The only thing that stood a bit off-key for me was that fact that she was putting away not one, but two, doughnuts and she was still slender. From then on, in my mind, she became 'Doughnut Girl'.

When Cuddy came in minutes later to downpour on my temporary victory, I thanked Doughnut girl for the nice conversation, laying on the sarcasm as usual. The definite, excusatory spark that lit up her eyes in response was the only thing that made me think about reconsidering my earlier analysis of her.

Doughnut girl flitted through my thoughts a few times during the next couple days, inscrutably. In my life there's never time for reflection, it's always about the here and now. But occasionally, slogging my way through a morass of clinic work or some tedious negotiation with Wilson or Cuddy, she would pop into my mind and break my flow of concentration. That in itself was plenty annoying, but it bothered me still more that I couldn't understand why. Something set her apart from all the other moving faces in my world. But _what?_

* * *

"You don't have a pen?" 

I was irritated. How could a _pharmacy _not have a pen? People had to sign things for almost every order. Not having a pen was stupid and, surprisingly, really inconvenient for customers such as myself. Giving the current pharmacist one of my more nastier stares, I turned towards the front desk. Limping over, I leaned over the counter, ignoring the nurse's gasp of protest as I rifled through papers and office supplies searching for a pen. "C'mon... doesn't anyone in this hospital have a god damn pen?"

With a growl of disgust, I straightened after coming up unsuccessful, eyes searching the ongoing flow of patients as if I would spot one of them twirling a pen in their hands or something. My eyes fell on a young kid, seated in boredom on the counter top right beside me. He glanced at me curiously.

"Hey, kid, you got a pen?" I asked.

He blinked at me for a moment, before reaching into his pocket. "Sure. You want it?"

"Yes." I took it from him, nodding slightly towards him. "Thanks."

A sudden, feminine gasp stopped me from leaving. Stopped me only because I recognized it. Cuddy. I turned and raised an eyebrow at her. "What?"

She was staring at me, then to the pen kid, and then back to me, pleasant shock across her face the whole time. "House, that's incredible, how did you do that?"

Cuddy had gone insane. Oh well, best to play it cool... I didn't want to get the mentally unstable worked up... "Uh... with much practice and a good hairstylist?"

"Daemon... you talked..."

My head snapped back to the kid in surprise. And there, in all her average, annoying glory, was Doughnut Girl. She had her hand on pen-kid's cheek and she looked just as pleasantly surprised as Cuddy. "I can't believe it. Talk to me, Daemon."

Daemon, as his name obviously was, only stared at her. And stared. Doughnut girl, her eyes growing slightly desperate, turned to us with a despaired look. "He's... he's never spoken before. He's a mute. He was adopted when he was seven. No one has ever been able to get him to talk." She was now looking at me as if I were some kind of god.

I looked back at her, slightly uneasy. What? Did she want another miracle? I had only asked for a pen. And now that I had it, I was off to sign for some Vicodin. Dysfunctional mute kids were of no concern of mine.

"Why don't we have Dr. House look at him? He's one of the most renowned diagnostic doctors in the country," Cuddy offered with a small smile.

_What?_

I glared at Cuddy. Slowly, I shifted my cane and faced Doughnut girl, who blinked innocently at me in reply. "I'm also a drug addict," I said. "And a generally nasty, arrogant son of a bitch, so I really don't think you want me 'looking' at your son, if you catch my drift."

"Oh, he's not my–" she started to reply.

"You got him to talk," Cuddy argued back at me through clenched teeth, cutting Doughnut girl off.

"I asked for a pen," I replied flatly. "There was no method to my madness, in this case."

"_Just _examine him," Cuddy hissed. "What could it hurt?"

"This is obviously a psychological problem, not a medical one."

"House—"

"_No._"

"Look," Doughnut girl interrupted our mini-battle with an apologetic smile. "It's really alright." She shrugged. "I'm sure it was just a freak coincidence, I doubt Dr. House could even get him to talk again. It's fine."

She had struck a nerve, though I doubt she realized it. She _doubted_ that I could get him to speak again? Well I doubted that her wave of curls was natural. There was no way to prove such a point except by demonstration. Call it pride, call it whatever the hell you like, but I was suddenly determined to get Daemon to talk again.

"Hey," I poked him in the leg with my cane, much to the chagrin of Cuddy, and the surprise of Doughnut girl. "You. Cat got your tongue?"

He looked at me patronizingly. I could see it faintly in his eyes... it was the same look that I gave the majority of mankind. He thought I was an idiot. I scowled and poked him harder. But just as I was opening my mouth to interrogate him again, Doughnut girl grabbed my arm. I jerked in surprise, turning to glare at her.

"Really, it's alright," she tried to assure me. She was one of those women gifted with a feather firm sort of touch and I quickly became unnerved and moved my arm out of her grasp. Cameron had a similar touch.

Instead of replying, I turned to Daemon and offered him a challenging look. "You– Exam room one." Without waiting for an answer, I began the walk towards the intended exam room. Behind me, I heard him slip off the counter, followed by the soft squeaks of his Sketchers as he followed after me.

* * *

_One hour later_

"I win." I blinked rapidly for a moment, gaining the fluid back in my eyes. I stuck out a hand. "Pay up."

Grumbling, Daemon reached into his jean pockets and pulled out a quarter, placing it in my outstretched palm. "Now, I don't know about you, but I'm getting kind of bored with staring contests. Happens when you win all the time..." I mused. He glared at me in response. "We could always have a... I don't know, say, a _talking _contest?" I feigned sarcastic enlightenment.

Our 'games' were interrupted as the exam room door opened. Cuddy stood in the doorway, looking none too happy. "House, you've been in here for over an hour. You have patients."

"I'm seeing a patient right now."

"Mary Jackson had to leave to catch an appointment," she continued with a scathing tone.

I did not like where this was headed. Especially when she dawned her infamous smirk of doom, which usually meant she had triumphed in some way or another. Which, in turn, usually meant something bad in store for me.

"I told her she was welcome to pick him back up at five."

"He's going to get pretty bored sitting in the waiting room for three hours," I said.

"Oh, he's staying with you," she replied. Daemon grinned like the little banshee he is. I had the urge to vomit.

"I don't babysit."

"You do today."

After the door slammed behind Cuddy, I turned to the little punk and frowned. "And that is what's known as a nymphomaniac."

"Nympho-o-maniac..." Daemon echoed with a grin.

I smirked. "Nice."

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**J.J. - **Narrr... sorry for the supreme shortness. Usually I am determined to write longer chapters, but this was all I could come up with during my busy schedule. Please review!


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